Sodbusters 1
by Yankee01754
Summary: A slight rewrite. Mostly corrections and some new material added to the original story.


Sodbusters

By Yankee01754

Jess Harper's blue eyes slowly fluttered open. Dizzy, sick and confused he looked around him. _No, he said to himself. I ain't_ _dreamin_'_. The train is gone. I'm somewhere between Denver and Laramie but I can't tell where. Leastways not while it's dark._

He struggled to his feet, swaying as he pulled himself upright, oblivious to the gash on his right temple which had been put there by the tree limb that hit him as he fell down the embankment. He was also unaware of the cut on his left cheek. There wasn't much light from the moon and there weren't many stars. In his confused state he wasn't sure if it was just a dark night or it was getting on toward morning.

He stood for a moment trying to recall what had happened before it finally came to him. "Grieving widow" Celie Rawlins wasn't grieving all that much for her recently murdered husband at all. She seemed awfully cozy with the new man she had sent for following Luke's untimely death. Sam Willard had been in Celie's compartment when Jess had gone to talk to her about the rough bunch Willard had recruited to help rid the Laramie range of the new settlers – farmers living on land given to, or purchased by, them from the federal government.

His memory was a little foggy but he kept thinking to himself "Slim. Gotta warn Slim." He mumbled this as he started walking. "Wish he was here though. Laramie's an awful long walk."

He grabbed hold of a small sapling to steady himself before starting off on his long walk home. Staggering, stumbling and stopping occasionally when the dizziness threatened to overwhelm him or his sore leg ached badly enough to force him to rest, he kept moving at a slow pace. He figured it must be around six by the time he'd walked what might have been a couple of miles. The sun was starting to show over the tops of the trees. Jess had no idea exactly what time it was when he went to Celie Rawlins compartment but it had still been full dark. He reckoned it must be around six, or maybe even seven, in the morning at this rate. There wasn't much time left before he had to be in Laramie to prevent the raid he was sure was coming. It would be a massacre. The newcomers were not prepared, or experienced enough, to handle a bunch that included John Wesley Hardin and others like him.

The Texan trudged on. He fell at least twice and stumbled numerous times. After a few hours he stumbled across a path that led to a small homestead where he could see a corral with several horses in it. A woman was hanging laundry. As he watched she finished the chore and went inside with her basket. She never looked in Jess' direction so she didn't see the injured man coming down the road.

He progressed a few feet farther down the road before stopping to take hold of a small tree and rub his aching leg. Then he started forward again attempting to make himself a bit more presentable than he knew he must look after his fall and the long walk along the grassy, and often dusty, route he had taken from the embankment.

"Gotta warn Slim. Celie Rawlins ain't no grievin' widow. Willard works for her. Gonna wipe out the sodbusters. She's worse'n her husband was." He sighed heavily and moved toward the corral where he rested his aching head for a few seconds before approaching the house. He grabbed hold of the post, that supported the roof over the front door, as he stepped up onto the porch.

His knock was answered by a woman a little older than himself wearing a dark blue skirt and blouse which were covered by a white apron. She held a ten-gauge shotgun in her hands.

"You don't need that gun, ma'am," Jess told her. "I mean no harm.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the woman asked, not lowering her weapon.

"My name's Jess Harper. I work at the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station near Laramie." .He gave her a shaky imitation of his most charming smile – the best he could manage around the hammer that was pounding in his head. He was also fighting the vertigo caused by the blow to his head he'd sustained the night before. "I had a little – accident. I was wondering if I could borrow one of your horses. I need..." he broke off the conversation when a wave of dizziness hit that made him sway on his feet.

"Mr. Harper? Are you all right? Maybe you should sit down."

"I don't have time to sit," he told her. "It's very important that I get back to Laramie as soon as possible."

"My husband has our saddle horse, but I suppose I could lend you one of the others."

"That'd be fine ma'am. I can manage."

Still she hesitated.

"I'll pay you! How much?"

"You must be desperate," she said as he rummaged in his pockets to find what he had left from the trip to Denver.

Jess was desperate. He had no idea he had laid unconscious on the ground after being thrown from the train. Nor did he know how long he had been walking before he stumbled across this little homestead. All he knew was that he had to get back home to the ranch and warn Slim about the trouble heading their way. If he didn't get on his way soon, there was a distinct possibility – given his less than perfect physical condition at the moment – that horse or no horse – he might not make it in time.

Finding a twenty-dollar bill in his pocket he handed it to her. "Here, this will pay for the use of the horse. I'll bring it back as soon as I can."

"You sound desperate."

"I am," Jess said clinging to the table as another wave of vertigo hit.

"All right, but keep your money. Just bring the horse back as soon as you can."

"Thank you," the injured Texan said with a sigh of relief.

Together they walked out of the house to the small corral where the woman indicated that he should "Take the black. He's pretty easy to handle."

There was no regular bridle, since the horse he was borrowing was not used as a saddle horse, but there was a coil of rope in the barn. Jess cut enough off to make a pair of reins then returned to the corral to get the horse. He was dismayed, however, to find that he was not able to mount from the ground. The combination of his head injury, and his bad leg, made it impossible so he led the horse to the fence and climbed onto its back from the top rail.

His benefactress opened the gate so Jess could be on his way. She watched in concern as he swayed from side to side, then went back into the house.

Slim stood on the porch, looking toward the road from Cheyenne. In the yard, talking to him but facing the house, was Roy Allen. Since the incident with Slim's stolen cow the partners had come to find Roy was the unofficial spokesman for the homesteaders. Decent, honest and hard-working he had endured rough treatment at the hands of Gil Craig yet he was willing to testify against him and talk to his fellow homesteaders about taking a stand against Craig and his crew.

They were supposed to be meeting with the other homesteaders and then with Sam Willard whom they thought was coming to back up the sheriff.

Slim was just telling Roy what he knew when they were distracted by the sound of a horse loping down the road into the yard near the barn. To Slim's surprise - for he was expecting to meet him at the train it was Jess. It didn't take Slim, and Roy but a few seconds to reach his side. Slim reached for the reins and stopped the horse. As he did so Jess slumped to one side and started to fall. The tall blond rancher got hold of him on one side while Roy got his other arm. They supported Jess, whose legs refused to hold him at the moment, and heled him into the house where they promptly deposited him in a chair and helped him get his good off. That done, Jess laid his head down on his arms while Slim bustled about getting a basin of hot water, a clean cloth, a towel and a bottle of whiskey so that he could treat his friend's injury. He also grabbed a fair-sized sticky plaster to cover the wound with when he was finished. Roy stood nearby in case Slim needed any help.

"What happened Jess?" Slim asked as he worked.

"I don't know for sure. I went to Celie Rawlins' compartment to talk to her. Willard was there." The younger man winced as Slim gently cleaned the gash, caused by the tree branch that had slapped him, with a little whiskey, "They're plotting something – probably a raid on the sodbusters. They stopped talking when I knocked and gave me a crazy story about why the men were getting off the fuel stop ten miles from Laramie. Ow! That hurts!" The whiskey stung the wound making Jess jump.

"If it didn't hurt, some, it wouldn't be working," Slim responded calmly.

"Easy for you to say," Jess mumbled. "Anyway, when I went to go back to my seat in the coach, I was jumped before I could even open the door. Something hit me on the head and I blacked out. I woke up at the bottom of an embankment below the railroad tracks and started walkin' . It seemed like forever until I found that little farm where I borrowed the horse to get home."

"That would explain the condition of your clothes," Slim said, "That gash on your head – any idea what could have caused it?"

Jess frowned as he tried to remember. "No. I don't remember anything between the time I left Celie's compartment and got jumped until I woke up on the ground and started walking."

The blond reached for a fair-sized sticky plaster to put on Jess' head.

"You ride to town and tell the law," he said to Allen. "I'll ride out to your place and warn the people there."

"Right, Slim," Roy said and headed for the door.

Washing, and drying, his hands when the bandage had been put over the injury to Jess' head, Slim told his partner, "You stay here, and take it easy, 'til the doc can look you over."

"Now wait a minute!" Jess exclaimed indignantly. "I didn't get my head beat in and ride all the way back here just to go to bed! I'm going with you."

Slim looked askance at his injured partner. "You sure you can make it?"

"Just get me on a horse. I'll be all right," was the answer.

Slim wasn't so sure about that but, seeing how determined Jess was, he took him by the elbow and helped him out to the porch where he made him sit while he, Slim, quickly went to the barn and got Jess' horse ready. That done, he led the bay over to the porch and ensured that Jess was secure in the saddle before heading out for Roy Allen's place to warn the homesteaders.

Briefly, they stopped on the road below the Allen homestead. The jouncing around on horseback didn't do Jess' head any good. When Slim's head was turned the younger man put his hand to his head when a wave of dizziness assailed him. The sound of gunfire, coming from that direction, made Jess forget he was dizzy and distracted Slim so that he never saw how his partner was suffering.

They rode as far as a nearby hill and found the homesteaders under attack by the greedy, and bullying, Gil Craig who had wanted to be their leader. They weren't there long – no more than a minute or two – when Celie Rawlins, Sam Willard and their bunch showed up.

For all Celie had told Gil Craig she wanted him dead, she ran to the mortally wounded man telling him that she hadn't meant it. It got her a bullet in the back from Sam Willard. It got Willard a bullet from Jess' revolver. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun. The sheriff, and his real posse, arrived and took the surviving attackers, from both parties, into custody. Celie Rawlins had failed to drive the homesteaders off their land. Her husband was dead as were her two lovers – or presumed lovers in the case of Sam Willard because nobody was quite sure what their relationship was.

Slim and Jess rode home with the blond keeping an eye on his partner all the way. Jess' face was too pale for Slim's liking and he appeared to be swaying in the saddle. When they reined their horses to a halt, in front of the barn, the two young men dismounted with the intention of putting their horses up for the day They had barely dismounted, and Jess' feet had just touched the ground when the dark-haired cowboy's already pale face went white and he started to pass out.

This time Slim did not give in to Jess' "I'll be all right" and hustled him off to bed before returning to the barn to take care of the horses. When the late afternoon stage, for Laramie, came through Slim asked Mose to send the doctor out. Dr. Holmes arrived a few hours later. He examined Jess and praised Slim's handiwork in cleaning up and bandaging the gash on the Texan's head. His diagnosis was that there didn't appear to be a concussion but it was best to keep Jess quiet for a week. He could eat whatever he wanted so long as he didn't get sick. If he did Slim was instructed to feed him soup, broth and scrambled eggs. Toast was also was also allowed. No liquor of any kind. He left, with Slim's thanks, an hour later.

The following day Jess rested willingly. He slept part of the day, carved kindling, peeled potatoes and visited the horses. He greeted each stage that came in but the changing of the teams was left to Slim or the drivers. Said drivers had strict instructions to make sure Jess didn't try to handle the harnessing or unharnessing until he got the all clear from the doctor.

Day Two found the Texan feeling somewhat better but still with a lingering headache from the attack. Slim made sure he rested and tried to get him to read a while. That didn't work out so well. Jess wasn't the bookworm the Shermans were. He seldom read anything more than the Laramie Gazette when they had one on hand.

Day Three found Slim getting frustrated. Jess hadn't gotten the "all clear" from the doctor yet but there he was, out in the yard, chopping firewood.

"If you have to cut firewood," Slim told him in an exasperated tone of voice, "then use the saw. It's not as strenuous and won't set your recovery back, to tackle that chore."

By Day Four Jess was ready to do anything to alleviate the boredom so he took to trying his hand at making stew and made some bread as well. He was starting to feel better and would soon be too restless to pin down.

Slim wasn't too happy with the mess in the kitchen, and manfully restrained himself from laughing at Jess' woebegone face when the bread got burned and the stew boiled over, but he was glad to see his pard was starting to feel better.

"Why don't you work on the mending when you finish cleaning up? There must be half a dozen shirts – mostly yours – that need buttons sewn on and seams mended since you won't take them to town."

Jess gave Slim a sour look but did as he was told. The mending was piling up and he found himself wishing – not for the first time that they had somebody on hand, or close by (that didn't have marriage on their mind as the widow who owned the shop in town did) to take care of this job.

Day Five found Jess much better. Doctor Holmes stopped by on his way back to town and examined him again. The pronouncement was that he could start easing into his regular workload. The headache was virtually gone and the gash on his head was well on its way to being completely healed.

Given that freedom Jess threw himself into chopping wood, changing teams, cleaning harness, mucking out the stalls and taking care of the cows. He was so much better that his sense of humor returned and he found various ways of giving his friend a hard time – like inspecting Rocky to see if Slim had groomed the sorrel properly and watching him clean his saddle and bridle all the time making comments about how it should be done.

After a week Doctor Holmes released Jess to do whatever he needed to do. The medical man was satisfied with his patient's recovery and saw no reason why he couldn't get back to his normal routine.

At dinner that night Slim brought Jess up to date on what was happening with the homesteaders now that the Rawlins, Gil Craig and company were no longer a threat.

"Roy Allen's kids are thriving. Mrs. Allen sent word that she has some butter churned for us and a couple of cheeses are just about ready. A couple of more weeks and it'll be aged enough to eat."

"That's good," Jess said. "We're startin' to get a little low on butter and the cream will go good on pie – provided I don't burn the next one."

"They buried Celie Rawlins next to her husband," Slim said. "Even though she cheated on him, she was still his wife and the other ranchers thought it was the right thing to do. I hear only a handful of them showed up for the funeral. I guess some of them realized, after the fight at the Allens', that they were wrong. It doesn't hurt that Colonel Gray, from Fort Laramie visited each one of them personally and laid down the law about harassing people who legally own their land. The government sold it to them and the ranchers are to ease off – permanently – or they'll answer to the army."

"What about Craig and Willard?"

"The sheriff wired Mrs. Craig in Baltimore. She didn't want him any more than he wanted her once he met Mrs. Rawlins. Can't say as I blame her much. He deserted her and left her to face her family and their society friends." He took a sip of his coffee before continuing, "Sam Willard doesn't appear to have had any family. Luke and Celie Rawlins are the only ones who knew him. They buried him in Boot Hill with a marker that only states his name and the year of his death. There's nothing else to add. Gil Craig got the same treatment except that Mrs. Craig did supply the year of his birth. Other than that it's a plain marker – nothing like he would have had if he'd been a faithful husband to her back in Baltimore."

"What about the rest of them?"

"Most of the raiders were living outside the law. They're buried in unmarked graves or in jail. The survivors will go to prison as soon as the trials are over."

"Good place for them," Jess growled. "I knew that bunch was trouble as soon as I saw Cole Younger and Wes Hardin were among them."

The two men finished supper, relaxed for a little bit and then headed for bed secure in the knowledge that peace once more reigned in their town and the surrounding countryside – at least for now.


End file.
